.

"In ieiunitas"

.

Awakening, Althea felt sluggish, though she was aware she must have slept long and deep. With a soft groan, she eased herself up into a sitting position, wincing as hunger bit at her side. Almost instinctively, she cast sleep-laden eyes about her, as if for intruders or dangers. After nearly two months of living on edge, her nerves were still raw. Relax, Little Dagger, she thought, feeling a little foolish. I'm safe here. Though 'safe' was in the most basic sense of the word: one could never be truly 'safe' in Wraith society. Even the Queen was not entirely protected; mostly from rivalries vying for her lofty position. She got up, hissing at the coldness of the floor upon her bare soles. The cold ascended up her legs and across her arms. Thirst made her mouth feel gummy and tongue, swollen. She rubbed an arm, unfocused and groggy still from the long sleep. I wonder what Lynex is doing, she thought. A cramp of hunger pained her again, shaking her away from that muse. She gathered her clumsy limbs together and stood, putting back some lush black furs on the bed that had fallen to the sand covered ground. Her lank, tawny hair fell in her face. Mimicking a disgruntled Wraith's growl, Althea wondered how she could put it away from her face as she planned on what to do next. Getting the food was the easy part; for years she had retrieved her food from the ship's storages; it seemed that there was a special cache just for her. Although she had to hunt the animals around the clan, Warrior had granted her the privilege to have a small, tiny room filled with various meats, fruits, and other foods she would require to maintain a healthy growth. The meat she hunted her own, but the fruits and vegetables were retrieved by Wraith. Whether the Wraith chosen for that task objected, Althea didn't know. His stoic and rigid demand for absolute obedience most likely quelled any argument.

Ripping a strip of cloth from her green-hued shirt, she began to tie her hair. After a long moment of difficult and a few choice curse words later, Althea managed to make a small ponytail, just enough to keep her hair out of the way. Completely un-Wraithlike, but it would have to suffice. Now for something to wear, she thought to herself. A bubble of eagerness sprang in her. She cast her eyes upon the package that held her new clothes. Despite her amusement at Lynex's reaction the other day, she now felt the old spark of anticipation thrill through her veins. I wonder what they look like, she thought. Struggling to remain cool and composed yet failing in the end, Althea unwound the fibrous string and unwrapped the black fur to find a set of the most beautiful set of leathers she had ever owned. Eyes soft with awe, Althea picked up the garments, almost afraid to touch it, almost afraid to mar the beauty of them.

The leather was soft and supple to the touch, expertly cured, yet Althea knew it would be extremely resilient and last a long, long time. Unlike adolescent clothes, which were tanned in solid, medium browns, adult attire was tanned darkly, giving it a burnished, multi-shaded feel. Among males, the higher your rank, the darker your clothes. When Warrior was the second in command, he had worn ebony-black leather. Althea stroked it lovingly, impulsively bringing to her nose and smelling deeply. It smelt of leather. Quickly skimming out of her humble clothes, Althea donned the leather with careful, inexperienced fingers. The soft whisper of leather upon skin filled the air for a couple of minutes, the only noise in the room. Although it is common knowledge that if you wear leather for a long time, you would develop nasty scars since it caused friction with the skin. Wraith leather, however, had a thin but immensely resilient and comfortable padding coating the inside. It was almost as if wearing a second skin that cut through the cold. Althea instantly felt warm.

Althea let out a childlike giggle of pleasure and pride; it was perfect. It was the perfect size, too. She wore pants, a different style from her previous Wraith clothes, who had her legs free. These were tight-fitting and sinuous, smooth and seamless. The leathers that acted like a trench-coat feel fell to her ankles, cut open in both the front so to allow freedom of movement. A tight belt of softer-hued dark held her pants and the trench-coat leathers in place. There were minute, subtle designs sketched within it. Althea squinted at them, but couldn't make the words out. Her eyes weren't keen enough to discern the writing. The upper portion of her shirt fit perfectly as well; there was hardly a wrinkle. She couldn't help but admire it. Althea hated the way she was different from her kin, but at that moment she was amazed at how well a figure she must have cut. The shirt cut low across the chest, just above her half-moon breasts and allowing the well of her throat well-shown. Her neck was also bared in an stylish curve.

Lastly, she bore twin leather wrist gauntlets. These covered her wrists and half her forearm. These were deeply tanned and—when held to some lights—were tinged with subtle crimson, the same hue as the Queen's hair. It contrasted nicely to the rest of her attire. Hell, everything was nice! There couldn't have been anything else Althea could have asked for, although she was aware that mostly all the she-Wraith wore some ornament or another in their hair or on their arm. Look at me, Althea thought, trying to recollect some sort of modesty. Preening like I was the Queen herself! She gave a snort, placing one hand on her temple. Gathering her the rest of the clothes inside her parcel—some sleepwear, a much more formal set of clothes, and another casual outfit—she put it into the small table. She did so almost reverently, taking care for any wrinkles. Then she got up and, taking a small breath, as if the steel herself, walked to the door. It only lasted for a moment. When she opened the doors, she had an intent look on her face, her guards up. One could never walk carelessly amongst the Wraith.

.s.

Althea could hardly keep the excitement out of her step as she made her way to the ship's stores, where she knew a fresh batch of humans would be brought out from either the stores or from a hunting party's catch to feed the Hive. Wraith feeding habits fluctuated between the individual, varying from age to age. The old the Wraith, the less they had to feed and even then, one feed sustained them longer. The younger the Wraith, the more they had to feed since one feeding lasted only about a week: two was the limit. Lynex himself had almost died from starvation on Atlantis, losing all infamous Wraithlike control. Althea rounded a corner, her sea-gray eyes immediately drawing over to rows of humans held by stasis cocoons below her. She herself was just above the feeding level, able to watch from a slight height. Her toes curled in the thin-soled shoes, kneading. Without being aware of it, her mouth had set in a thin line.

It was during times of feeding did Althea truly acknowledge her differences between them and her. They fed upon humans. She didn't. She didn't roll her eyes in the blind thrill of the feast, nor did she bear the slit upon her palm. Instead, she ate like a youngling, taking down solid foods. She once had thought she would have to learn to eat as Wraith did to be accepted into adulthood; now, she doubted very much that she would have paid the high price for it. Ever since she had seen and 'lived' amongst the humans, especially the humans from Atlantis, she could not imagine bringing herself to commit such an act. No, and although they themselves had committed sins against her and her kith, she could not hate them nor derive any pleasure from their position as prey. How could she? They lived and hunted and had their moments of joy, just as Wraith did

Althea sighed to herself, eyes trailing over the panicky eyes of some of the fresher humans. Besides, they looked too much like her. She was unable to repress a shudder. It was wrong. No, I am happy with what I eat, she thought. But she would die before stopping or preventing it. Wraith had to feed. There was nothing she could do. And so she watched, her humanity giving a flicker inside her as a female Wraith suddenly walked into view, just below Althea's feet. Althea watched as the she-Wraith, her hair icy brown with a silver clasp on her upper arm, approach one of the cocoons that contained a male. His eyes had widened and took on a desperate sheen; he struggled against his bonds, mouth a slack O of terror. The she-Wraith growled, wasting no lip-curling preliminaries. Althea winced and turned her head away when she slammed her palm upon the human's chest. His muffled screams gave her chills.

The man's screams attracted other she-Wraith. Three more appeared from underneath the platform Althea was standing on, tense and the beginnings of snarls on their faces. The first she-Wraith whirled around, feeding-hand bloody. After a moment of growls and menacing looks, half-savage, half-dismissive, the she-Wraith turned around again and continued to feed, ignoring the others. Althea could not help but watch, drinking in the scene, unable to help the feeling of anticipation and interest. She rarely saw Wraith interact besides passing each other in corridors or giving each other tactical information; this part of their lives—the time of feeding—was a relatively new ground. Warrior had his own personal store of humans, and had always kept Althea way from the feeding level of the ship. Those of the higher ranked had the privilege to escape the cutthroat competition, and Althea had been spared witnessing too much in her youth. But with Warrior dead and she being thrown into the young adult rank, her spark of curiosity had been reawakened again. This was new. Althea leaned a little further, eyes keen.

By now, the first she-Wraith to have appeared had finished with her human and disappeared, looking neither right nor left. Althea could hear the three other females growl as she passed by, but they didn't attack, nor did the first female retaliate. Instead, the three females abandoned their harassing of the first to latch on their own humans, their snarls of pleasure filling the wing. As with the other, they finished quickly and left, sated looks on their faces. By now Althea was kneeling upon the sand-covered level, dread darkening her shameful excitement at the feeding. Females ate first; they were automatically higher than the males in the social hierarchy. That means the older and experienced hunters next, Althea thought, and after them, Lynex. Anxiety clenched her heart. In this world of keen competition, many young hunters never lived long to see past their first adult year. Only the strongest survived, those with the keenest wills to survive and powers of combat. Lynex was by no means a strongly-built Wraith unlike some; his power was held in the ropey, lean muscles. He was a good fighter, but good enough?

A deep, broken snarl almost caused the young woman to jump from her kneeling position and instinctively crouch and tense, her nerves now tauter than a hind's. She scooted slightly closer to the cobweb-covered, organic wall; a tall, powerful and very dark tanned-clothed Wraith had strode out from under her platform, aggressive and forbidding. One of the higher ranked, just below a commander, Althea observed, keeping careful to remain absolutely still. There was no doubt that the large male Wraith cut a very imposing figure, and Althea was extremely surprised when two other Wraith, males each, dared to snarl at him, their eyes slitted and teeth bared. The first male answered with a bubbling growl that the first female had had: it had a dismissive quality, as if he didn't take their threat seriously. When the other hunters started picking out their own humans, he stately, for such a savage-looking creature, turned and chose his human. It was a large human, almost larger than the Wraith himself, with thunderous black eyes. He struggled against his bonds, spitting—curses, Althea imagined—at his captor defiantly.

As with the females, the tall Wraith fed upon the human with little snarling or stiff-lipped sneering. Contrary to popular belief by others, in times of feeding very few Wraith bask in their prey's fear and gain pleasure from their vain struggles. Instead, they just feed and were done with it; and especially in this time of rationing. There were less humans to go around. Waste time in squabbling and preliminaries and one might lose their supper. By now, more males were appearing, all varying in the higher-ranked positions. Each seemed to 'greet' each other with low half-hearted snarls before feeding. Althea could not watch the actual feeding process, each time turning her eyes away, but focused on the reactions of the Wraith. It was a fascinating subject; she personally had never seen this large a feeding because of her 'sheltered' life. She was motionless, even to her breathing. She didn't know how the Wraith would react if they knew she was observing, staring at everything with an awed expression.

How she loathed her human body. These beautiful creatures, powerful and amazingly graceful, long-leathered and white-haired. How privileged she was to be considered 'kin' amongst them. She was the only one good enough, determined enough, superior enough, to survive. Althea gnawed on her lower lip, eyes losing their focus. She thought of herself, touching, living with, seeing these humans every day. It was a shuddering, disturbing thought, knowing what she was truly was: human. Wraith growls mingled with muffled human screams. Humans morphed into husks. Eyes grew almost sightless with the pleasure of the feast. Wraith coming and going. Althea sat and was lost in her thoughts, being pulled deeper and deeper in. She, a nameless, inferior human. The Wraith were so beautiful; the greenish-blue flesh that covered their wondrous, lithe bodies were divine. Those claws, teeth, hair, and eyes made her jealous to her aching core. The envy, the sadness she experienced, knowing all those years that she would never truly be like them. That she would always remain a common halfling, an inferior creature, a member of the human race.

Was the Queen right? she could not help but wonder. She peered over the edge, noticing the number of Wraith had mounted three-fold. It was becoming crowded. The level of aggression was rising, the air taking on a tinge of hostility. Am I nothing but a human, clinging to ways not of my own? If you were just a human, her logical side intervened coolly, then how could you have survived all these years with your blunt human claws and teeth? Think, Little Dagger—only the most worthy could survive. Even Warrior had died, but you had lived. Althea almost risked a snort. She ground some sand between her forefinger and thumb, a tiny action belying her sudden vehemence. I am a Wraith, I am one of them, my shape is only wrong, I had risked my life by telling the Queen—her superior, her royalty, her leader—by telling her all this. Why am I still questioning myself? Had I not said I would fight any who would deny me? Her pulse had quickened, her jaw clenching. Her belly growled again in hunger. She ignored it, frowning, desiring to move, to scream, to fight something, anything. The sudden change in mood startled her. Why had she reacted so strongly to her own thoughts? And worst of all, she had yelled at herself about fighting any who would deny her birthright. She felt sick.

Her confusion and disorient caused her to almost cry out in surprise when a furious row of snarlings and hissings cut through the relative lull of the feeding. Luckily she caught herself in time, managing to still it by biting on her tongue. She almost amputated it. Two Wraith were circling below, faces contorted in menacing threats, pupils thin as needles and fingers tented. Other Wraith jostled and positioned themselves away from the fight, yet maintaining an almost eager, watchful eye on it. They are young adults, Althea realized, observing their lighter tanned leatherwear. It was slightly darker than her own and Lynex's, but not by much. So, the lowest ranked have come to feed. As custom, the adolescents feed elsewhere, in a more secluded spot; they fought and squabbled against other adolescents and only would be introduced to the main feeding level when they became adults.

Lynex is with them, a small voice whispered in her mind, dispelling any previous feelings of hunger or anger. She sat up straighter, eyes roving around on the Wraith like a high-flying kestrel. She tried to ignore the fight. Where was Lynex? A sharp yelp forced her to the two combatants, unable to ignore it any longer. The larger male had whacked the smaller one a furious blow across a shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. The victorious male stomped to the one on the ground, shoulders squared aggressively and mouth open to reveal the small yet sharp fangs. He hissed dominantly, features harshly seriated. The one on the ground gave a lower hiss, a half-growl of a cat, and Althea knew it was over. All the other Wraith knew it was over as well, for the victorious male ignored the defeated one and fed upon the human they had been fighting over. A low groan, one which Althea could faintly hear over the millings and myriad of background noises, came from the loser. He painfully pitched to his heels, crestfallen and subdued. He favored the arm which had been hit, holding it close. He must have broken something, the young woman thought, awed and impressed at the fight's swiftness. She continued to watch the young Wraith till he passed out of the limit of her vision. He would have to wait till all other Wraiths had eaten their fill, or risk another scuffle. He would have to be confident in a victory.

Althea rocked back on her haunches, looked on and learned. Her pulse began, slowly, to pound. Where was Lynex? Unaware, she picked up more sand and began to ground them into a powder, the gritting noise sounding loud in her ears. Her heart hammered once in a painful beat before returning to her regular tempo. There he was. She could mark out his figure with ease amongst crowd of young adult Wraith. It was he who was the lithe, strapping male, strong-built but lean, a year Althea's senior yet just below a foot taller than her. Her heart churned and bucked within her ribs. Urgent with certainty, Althea knew that this was the most dangerous stage of feeding. Most of the cocoons were filled with dried out carcasses—and although she was above only a small portion of the huge feeding level, she was positive there only remained a few humans.

How could so many Wraith be fed? It has begun, she realized, mouth dry. The famine. Never had she seen it so bad. And it would become a famine very soon. It would be now only a matter of time . . . but like most predators, they hunkered down and took it in stride. They just had too much to do just to stay alive and live than just rail and caval. Like a flicker of fire added to volatile liquid, the tension skyrocketed. Numerous fights broke out, each at random intervals, each as hard and furious as the last. Blood roiled. Cat snarls rose to falcon screams. Wraith fought brother. These were no graceful dances nor skilled skirmishes; these were downright inn-brawl rows, for the simplest meal as life was put on the line. Friend fought friend. The noise was steadily growing louder, the air itself smelling of aggression and desperation. Once or twice Althea lost sight of Lynex in the frays, each time feeling a woozy sense of dread clenching at her bowls. Her eyes flashed, never moving so fast in her life, searching for the one Wraith whom she pledged friendship, for the one Wraith who gave reason to her life. Althea clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth.

But as time went on, Althea began to realize that she was misplacing her fear. In fact, she began to relax her high caution and actually enjoy it. There was no Wraith swift enough, lithe enough, to subdue him. She loved the quickness of him, his sleek, slim energy parrying every lunge and pressing other Wraith hard. Warrior had trained him well. Many Wraith neglected the finer points of hand-to-hand combat, preferring their specialty in weapons. These Wraith Althea pitied. They had no idea their body could possibly be the best weapon of all. As time went on the opponents dwindled, each fight becoming shorter and shorter till at long last Lynex stood ringed by a circle of panting Wraith, eyes flaming with aggressive and victorious energy, claws bared, lips writhing, leather swirling, nose wrinkled in a menacing and malignant snarl, daring any to part him with his prize. Even the young woman, just above, slightly backed away, almost unconsciously submitting before Lynex's aura. He was such a darksome fair Wraith. And as he stood there, chest heaving with exertion, Althea knew she loved him.

Lynex was just about to turn around and feed upon the last human when a sharp snarl of displeasure whirled him back around. Since the owner of the snarl came from under the platform, Althea could not see who it was or what rank they came from. But by the strange wilting Lynex seemed to undergo, a kind of unconscious submitting, Althea grimly knew it must be a much older and higher-ranked Wraith. The surrounding Wraith, each just beginning to leave, returned to form their half-circle of watchful eyes. Clearly they wanted to see who would defeat the other. This must be serious, Althea thought, forgetting to blink. Her heart had leapt in her throat, her eyes hot and intent. A stiff-legged Wraith, his leather a rich darksome colour, strode out from underneath the platform. He was a little taller than Lynex, sporting two twin mustachios and a head full of long flowing locks. From her vantage point Althea could see a triple scar running from his hairline and disappearing down his face. She could not see where they ended. He was a heavily-built Wraith, savage and ill-tempered looking. Lynex submitted, giving ground.

The new Wraith bristled and looked ominously across the circle at Lynex. Lynex, seeming to be resurrecting quite a deal of the old awe toward him, seemed to grow small and shrink in upon himself. And although Althea wished Lynex didn't become like the other beaten Wraith, she had no desire to see him mauled. Althea watched as the newcomer bent his head to eye the human in the cocoon, accepting a victory. Lynex bristled. He gave a strange expression, his eyes invisible under the ridge of his brow, the shadows lengthening on his face as he did a strange little 'bow' with his head. The new Wraith hissed at the human, uncovering his impressive array of fangs. In the cocoon, the human gazed back with the eyes of a dead sheep. The human didn't finch when the older Wraith snarled in his face. Oblivious to Lynex, he cocked his head in an almost friendly manner.

He's doing more than just toying with the human, the hidden young woman realized with a start, he's toying with Lynex. Then Lynex gave no warning. He struck, after his custom, silently and as swift as a wolf. With a muscle-bruising force, Lynex whacked him. The strength alone would have been enough to break Althea's femur like a celery stalk. The older wraith only faltered, astounded at the suddenness of it. But that first blow was enough. The tide had turned. Surprise was on Lynex's side as he continue to pelt the older Wraith with wracking blows, always leaping away from the metallic snaps and cuffs his foe was giving him. It was brutal, she wouldn't deny it. Even from her distance she winced as each bone-shattering blow was exchanged. But she was as if by serpent mesmerized; she could not take her eyes away. The violence called for a release, and she guiltily succumbed to it. Every blow aiming to hurt, to cripple, to render useless was given all for a few extra days of life, for that extra spurt of energy, for that extra hour of energy. The seriousness of the situation almost made Althea giddy.

She could hardly bear it. She gripped her hands tight and leaned forward in her seat and willed the fighters to—to what? With a flush of shame she realized she wanted the climax toward the moment of blood and pain. She could not help it. Everything about the feeding combats called for its culmination. Captured by beauty, the spectator cried out for the release of blood. She almost lost her grip on her fear and concern for Lynex's safety. Gone were the thoughts for an easy surrender: she, like all the other Wraith witnessing the combat, felt the blood in her rise and call for the release. She would shamefully admit later on that she could not deny it. It was almost like a drug, one that caused her to strain for the final blow, the blow that would end it all.

Had the fight been set up beforehand and both Wraith knew when and where the battle would take place and had the time to assess the situation, it might have gone differently. Lynex would have been most hard-pressed for any advantage. The older Wraith had everything on him: experience, size, heft. Except one thing. He didn't have surprise, and Lynex used it, latching on to his one chance and never letting go of it.

The lean Wraith never once allowed the larger Wraith to get his bearings. He never once paused in his attack, continually slashing and clouting and cutting. The large Wraith whirled. Three slashes over the other eye ridge. The Wraith turned again. His cheek was laid open. He spun. His arm was hit so hard the bones cracked. In a short expanse of time, more and more grievous hurts were added till at last, the be-scarred Wraith leapt away with a menacing, roaring snarl. As if by an unspoken signal, Lynex ceased his attack. The larger stood away, a string of saliva hanging from his bottom row of teeth, head lowered and panting hard. Lynex shook his head and snorted. The fire in his blood had not yet stilled. Still, he didn't attempt another clash with the larger Wraith. He was not stupid. Above, Althea leaned back, a hammering explosion of emotions that could hardly be contained. The surges of passionate feeling left her drained and exhilarated. She sat still, shaking all over, oblivious to the sweat running down the sides of her face and trailing along ringlets of hair. He was victorious. Lynex was alive.

Below, the darker-tanned Wraith's attempt to maintain his dignity was heroic. Calmly turning his back upon the younger Wraith and the human, as though both were beneath his notice and unworthy of consideration, he stalked away, nor did he stop to look to his wounds till he was far from sight. As one, the remaining Wraith backed off from Lynex, breaking circle one by one and two by two. Lynex watched them leave, still breathing hard, sweaty locks of hair in his face. Althea could see his special grin, that wolfish, roguish smirk appear on his face as he wiped a hand across his mouth. As she got up stiffly from her sitting position on the platform, Lynex walked over calmly to his human whom he had fought so hard for and fed. The human was still moaning by the time Althea reached the feeding level, just below the place where she was sitting. She hung back, uncertain, eyeing the hunched form of her friend over the cocoon. She swallowed, looking quickly around, almost hesitant in being here. She was paranoid about not getting involved, especially after all what she saw. She skirted the fringes, hanging back along the wall until Lynex straightened up. He continued to gaze at the human for another minute or so before walking away.

Althea gave a low cough, loud enough to get his attention. Lynex snapped his head in her direction, and immediately his eyes softened the rekindled belligerence. He was still breathing hard when she walked to his side, and his personal smell of autumn sunlight and cobwebs wounding around her. His eyes sparkled deep forest green, catching her off guard with their decidedly teasing gleam.

"Well rested?" he said. A tiny strip of blood reflected off his adult leatherwear. His hair lay plastered to his head, wet with sweat. His eyes continued to shine. Such a drastic difference from what she had seen him a few moments ago. In the eyes of such energy, and with the certainty of at least a week's ample energy the human gave him ahead, all thought of both the clan's troubles and her own slipped unmissed from her thoughts and she shouldered him in the same light manner, although she could not help but admit how weird it was to speak in such an easy tone after such a fearsome scuffle.

"Better than a nest of leaves." She looked up at him, suddenly stricken with a shyness she couldn't name. She suddenly felt privileged to be allowed to speak with such a fine fighter, and could not help but look at him in a new way. Though she wasn't aware of it, she looked at him now with an appraising eye.

"And you, Lynex? Sleep well?"

Lynex gave a thick hissing, almost a thrum, like sea surf, that sounded like in an offhand manner. His breathing just beginning to ease.

"Well enough. I see you have donned your clothes." His eyes flickered over her body briefly—pausing a split second to gaze at the curve of her throat—before leaping nimbly away. He said nothing afterward, beginning to head down a smaller, dark-blue corridor, leading Althea away from the huge feeding chamber. She recognized it, and said yes when Lynex asked, "You have not eaten?"

He looked at her then, strangely.

"Are you saying you forewent your own comfort to . . . watch?"

Althea tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, remembering. It had been almost breathtaking, and how she had felt her own blood rise, despite the knowledge of the humans' deaths . . . she could not feel but a little guilty. She kept her eyes on the corridor's yellow and blue light patterns splattered on the floor.

"Yes."

"I thought you shied from such things. I must admit, at feedings we tend to allow our . . . disagreements . . . to get a little heated." The black-green gaze was on her now, curious, appraising. "If you disliked feedings in the past, why watch them now?"

"To learn," she answered, letting her eyes flicker up from the floor to Lynex then back down. He hadn't been looking at her.

At this Lynex gave a coughing little bark, one which Althea had learned to express surprise.

"Learn? You and your curiosity, Little Dagger!" Lynex said. She looked up at him, wondering if he was teasing her. But his tone had been light, and there had been a slight prickle of interest. He wants to know, she thought.

"I learned the rationing is much more serious than I had thought," she muttered. "All those Wraith fighting for one human at the end? I could not believe it! Will it be the same thing every single time you feed?" She looked at him, their difference in height making her tilt her head up at him. She allowed a little taste of her concern for him in her voice, yet hiding the rest behind her gray eyes. She didn't know how he would react to concern; 'concern' was an un-Wraithlike trait. Whether he heard the nuance, she could not decipher it from his casual expression and careless half-shrug.

"The first feeding is always the worst. It gets easier," he gave a quick smirk, "as your reputation spreads."

Althea tried to find comfort in his relaxed, confident words, but could not help but continue to feel a feather of unease remembering the intensity, the furious blows, and the catlike snarls. She shuddered, shaking her head. Lynex shouldered her then, noticing her doubt and laughing. The strangely melodious sound coming between such fanged and threatening jaws had always amazed Althea, but now there was an added feature to it, but one which Althea could not name.

"Relax, Little Dagger."

"I worry," she said, looking at him with her arms crossed. Above and along the walls, the dragonfly-winged lights coated the tunnel in hushed, yellow light. The smells were cleaner here, less hot. It was cooler down here too, a pleasant change. "You could have been badly hurt, or worse."

Lynex snorted and tossed his head, but the wayward smirk on his face had mellowed and subdued a little into something softer.

"You know I would never forget it."

"Looked like you did."

Lynex's eyes narrowed slightly, considering. Then he gave a low lolling growl. "Looks can be deceiving. You, most of all, can understand that."

Althea shifted her weight from foot to foot, still trying to maintain a grip on her argument. "That doesn't explain—"

"You felt it, didn't you?" Lynex growled, lifting an eye ridge higher than the other. He cocked his head. Althea felt a loss for words. "The fire. In the blood. You felt it too."

Althea felt flustered and stammered halting words, still valiantly striving for an adult rhythm. "Yes—yes, I—I did, but—"

"Good. Then you understand." Lynex said. Althea felt her resolve to argue dissolve in their front. She gave a sigh, feeling a comforting mixture of amusement and tenderness. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should just let Wraith be Wraith, she thought, and live with it for the rest of my days.

"Fine, I do. Let's keep going. I'm hungry." With that, with as much dignity she had left, she continued down the hall, toward the food storages. By now, her stomach had developed a numb feeling, and her throat ached for liquid. She shook her head, finally finding the perfect moment to slip the feather-light lock of hair back around her ear. She ignored Lynex when he easily caught up with her, yet eyed him through the limits of her peripheral vision. The two didn't speak for some time, each in a comfortable silence. They didn't see nor pass any other Wraith; most never came down this path. The sand covering the floor had a better preserved, since so few feet ever strode on it. The air took on a slightly wetter smell, still much cleaner than before. No one has breathed here for a time, she suddenly thought.

"You never told me what you thought of the feeding," the Wraith suddenly said, voice low and soft, startling her. Althea hid her gasp of surprise at his speech, masking it with a normal seeming intake of air. She looked at him, and saw he had that funny expression on his face: appraising, watching, curious. Althea frowned briefly in concentration, taken off guard at his sudden query.

"It was . . ." She rubbed an arm, as if cold. "It happened quickly, and everything was so furious and fast and . . ." She looked away. "It was amazing," she breathed. She could sense Lynex consider, his yellow-lit eyes half-shut. "It . . . I have no words for it. It was like a drug. I could not keep my eyes off it the whole time, even when you confronted the full-grown," Althea said.

"And the humans in the cocoons?" Lynex asked, moving a little closer, his darkly-tanned side brushing against hers. His warm odor filled her nostrils.

"You know I've grown to accept it," she said, "and that there's nothing I can do. But many fed quick; a small mercy."

There was a deep, throaty, catlike thrumming then, almost a purr. "You would continue to trust me?" Lynex asked, a sharp-toothed, gentle smile, one only reserved for her. "Despite of what you have seen?"

"Do I have a choice?" Althea asked, tips of her mouth quirking, teasing him with her words. Lynex gave a low growl, eyes flitting to the doorway up ahead, then back to her, his expression now unreadable.

"Always."

.s.

.s.

Althea selected a large delicate slice of meat, cooked it in the kitchen installed in the storage area by Warrior's decree and ate it. She drank her fill and was satisfied before half an hour. During that time, Lynex never left her, quietly standing a little ways off, aloof, off in thought. However, he betrayed not the slightest impatience as he waited for her to be finished. This only soothed the young woman slightly; she was quick to admit that it was a little embarrassing that he saw her eating like a human. It was boring compared to what Wraith had to go through to eat; she didn't have to fight for food nor prove herself. How could she rise in rank if all she had to do was go down to the storages? It wasn't like the meat was vicious. She ate quickly and left with Lynex without talking. They didn't speak again till they were in the open, hollow part of the Hive where they could crane their necks and look straight up and barely see the ceiling. Long strands like the nerves in the brain stretched and hung taut in the air, each on some sort of bridge or stair or cargo drop-off point. Home. This was the coldest place on the ship; their breaths could be seen, escaping in a rush of misty swirls.

Lynex stopped, hands on his hips, looking around. Althea, lost in her own thoughts, almost ran into him. She sidestepped in time, narrowly avoiding him. He glanced at her, hissed in amusement, then continued to scan the area. Huffing that he had caused her to be embarrassed, she asked, "What is it? What are you looking for?"

"A ship," he said. He said nothing afterwards.

After a moment of silence, Althea was made bold to ask, "What do you mean?"

Lynex didn't answer. He continued to crane his neck around. Althea sighed, but fell into silence, patient. All Wraith speak when they felt like it; it was easier to make a donkey drink then force them to talk. She stood there, slightly behind Lynex, mulling over nothing in particular. Her eyes wandered, following the flight paths of some one manned ships sliding into docks or heading out through the numerous passageways leading to the outside of the Hive. Her breath steamed. It curled like a spirit over her, then dissipated. She looked up. She could see some Wraith, tiny and antlike, walking above on the catwalks. Perhaps it was a sixth sense or maybe it was the telltale sound of the drone-Wraith's clomping steps. Maybe it was a combination of the both that caused Althea to look over her shoulder along the cargo drop-off strip to see three Wraith heading toward them: two drones and one dark-tanned male Wraith. It didn't take her long to realize they weren't just passing along, but purposely toward them.

She gave a quick hiss of warning, loud enough for Lynex to snap his attention to his mysterious ship and silently interpose himself slightly between her and the oncoming Wraith. When the lead male came within speaking distance, Lynex curtly dipped his head in respect. The drones stopped, impassive and silent. Neither of them held a weapon in their large hands. The male Wraith hissed, cat-slit eyes narrowing. He did a strange cocking of his head, upper lip curling. A challenge? Althea thought, watching as Lynex hissed in reply, though still respectful. Lynex turned his head grimly to her and said in a low tone, "Go with them."

Althea struggled to hide her surprise; it would look weak, which was the last thing she wanted this new Wraith to think of her as, especially now that she was determined to prove herself of a higher rank than a lowly young adult. But it was hard to hide her confusion. Her? Why her? She opened her mouth to question, but Lynex beat her to it.

"The Queen wants you. Go."

The Queen? She suddenly felt cold, and it was Lynex's firm voice, not her, that caused her to move toward the other males. In fact, her legs were moving to their own accord, her mind detaching for a split second. Seeing there would be no problem for her compliance, the taller Wraith gave a snort and turned around, walking back where he came from, not looking to see if she followed. The two drones parted, but waited, their solemn bone-like faces tilted down to her. They are waiting for me, she observed. She dared not give Lynex one last look back, though she was tempted. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and, ignoring both guards, walked after the male. When she had gone a considerable distance, as one the two drones took up the rear. Their footsteps tramped loudly in her hypersensitive ears. Relax, Little Dagger, she thought as she followed him. She used a trick Warrior had taught her, a breathing to a pattern, slowing her heartbeat, summoning strength of purpose and clarity of mind. She considered the situation as she marched on. She didn't know how long she walked, flanked by the two guards, but focusing on maintaining some sort of confidence, paying attention to her breathing. The two month trial with the Genii and the people of Atlantis had taught her the importance of keeping panic at bay, to leap away with a menacing snarl on her face or to attack, leaping into the fray.

Yet it scared her. It was too vague at the moment to pinpoint, but it did, in some way, scare her. It would be long years before she would realize it was the cold-bloodedness of her calculations, the careful and pragmatic counting of the cost, with its intimations of onrushing adulthood. She was growing up from a world of safety and comfort to a world of unknown. And, like all humans, she feared the unknown. The male in front of her led her up deep, blue hued corridors and passageways, never looking back. They ascended several flights of 'stairs', heading higher and higher up the ship. Althea forced herself not to pant, trying to hide the fact she was not as fit as she once was. Two months of sitting in cages and starchy beds trying to find out the meaning to the human word of "hell" did little for her. I need to start training, she thought, huffing under her breath, her calves burning after the tenth giant 'staircase'. Then the male Wraith whirled around and hissed at her.

Without thinking Althea lowered her eyes, her look how hovering between his be-mustachioed chin and his graceful eye ridges but never actually making contact with his eyes. The Wraith continued to give her a long, searching look before he spun around on a heel and stalked off. Assuming nothing had changed, that he still didn't find her in any way threatening, Althea followed him. The two drones' footsteps clomped in the background. The first thing Althea realized about this level was that it was oddly warm; Wraith Hive ships' temperatures ranged from freezing to cool. But in this level, the highest level, near the bow of the ship, was almost balmy. She looked around, taking in the delicate, intricate symbols on the walls, lights as thin as the webbing between frog's feet slick against them at random intervals. They glowed in luminous blues and reds, soft yellows, pale mauves. They were like ghost lights. The sand that covered the ground was a pristine gray layer, thin yet thick enough for good footing.

Ahead of her, the male Wraith had stopped before a large, gaping entranceway to a room. He was looking at Althea, impassive. She steeled herself with a quick clench of her jaws. She dared to breathe. Her breaths came out in spurts. She walked forward, feeling the Wraith's suspicious eyes on her before crossing into the room.

.s.

It was warmer than the cooler, shaded corridors down which she had just come. The floor looked worn, as though smoothed by water, its surface rosy crystalline, green, or amethyst. The colour changed as Althea entered deeper, as the angle of the light striking her eye altered. The floor seemed duller, somehow, softer than stone. She could have stared at it, mesmerized, but a cold, sliding voice behind her said:

"When you have had done admiring the floor, little human, turn around, that I may look you in the eye."

Althea spun around. The Queen stood not five feet away from her, now dressed in a pale cream dress, her hair still cascading over her bare shoulders like old wine. She was so beautiful, the young woman could not recall ever seeing a creature more breathtaking. She was pure, admirably pure, without a twinge of conscience or shame. The curve of the neck, the flash of the eyes, the fullness of her lips fascinated Althea.

"Come closer," she told her. And when Althea hesitated an instant's breadth, she snapped, "Can you not understand a civilized tongue? Be quick."

Althea's heart beat hard and slow inside her ribs, and her throat was dry. But strangely, curiosity overrode her fear. In fact, she felt no fear. She never felt so humble before the Queen, so privileged. The breathtaking beauty numbed her tongue and teeth and lips.

"You spoke before about the First One's death," she said. But there was hard edge to her hissing, a strained, almost fretful tinge. Althea's heart clenched. She bowed her head, eyes focusing on an garnet patch on the floor.

"Yes, my Queen."

"Is it true? Is he really dead?" The voice was so controlled, so easy, that Althea knew that it had to have been forced. It belied everything the Queen's aura projected. Althea was disturbed and confused by it. The strange ache in her chest grew thicker. She was so glorious . . . why was she cursed to suffer like this?

"Slain. I—I saw it with my own eyes."

With a strange, burbling hiss the Queen began to pace, her strides fluid yet her movements with her hands choppy as she ran tented fingers through her hair. Althea watched them, as if rapt, thinking dimly about white cavefishes in a pool of blood. The heartache grew stronger, making her throat feel tight. The Queen seemed as if to forget Althea's presence. Althea could hear the numb murmurings, heated and moaning, just above a whisper.

"This cannot be—surely a jest—dead? No, he cannot be—surely a jest—dead? The human lies, they all lie, everybody lies—this cannot be . . ."

The smell of power flickered, faltered, dying, leaving behind a 'window' in which Althea could sense an upheaval of strange, alien emotions. She could feel the Queen around her, the she-Wraith's essence inside of her. Althea was dumbstruck. She could actually feel what the Queen was feeling. How was that possible? Had she, Althea, physically a human, capable of some form or sort of telepathy, which all Wraith were capable of? A heart not her own yet in her beneath her breast felt hollow, filled with an ache too keen to bear. It felt like it was put in scalding water, melting. Althea thought the fire of the Queen's pain would burn away her sanity.

The window suddenly snapped shut. The feelings and sensations mercifully ebbed and dissipated, leaving Althea drained and baffled. Something was seriously wrong, but before she could think anymore about the Queen's next question suspended any contemplation on it.

"How did he die?" she hissed. The pacing stopped. The paleness of her throat complemented the redness of her hair. The red mallow of the dress, the colour of rosehips, stood out against the floor. Althea suddenly felt witless under the she-Wraith's feverish gaze. The fear returned in a suffocating rush. She stumbled through words.

"He was cut down . . ."

"By whom!" the Queen screamed, startling Althea. Her calm broke. She could feel the start of a cold sweat down her back in the face of the Queen, her eyes wild and teeth bared. Suddenly she was not just a little frightened. Suddenly she needed to be away from here.

"Was it by you? Did you kill him?" A whisper. Garnet eyes flashed.

"No!" Althea heard her mouth say. The words didn't seem to originate in her brain; rather they came out of her mouth and then had to travel around her ears before she was aware of what she had said. She shook her head. "No!"

"No?" An echo. The soft whisper of a dress. "Then by whom?"

For a mere incoherent second, Althea wanted to tell her that it was John Sheppard of the Atlantians who shot him down. She wanted to tell her that it had been Atlantis, the thrice-cursed Atlantis, who killed him. She wanted to say that it was the Genii who made him weak, who allowed him susceptible. But most of all, she wanted to cry that it was her, yes, it was her that killed Warrior. She had allowed him to be cut down in place of her, an inferior, weak human instead of him. She had been too slow and had stumbled and fell, too winded to move. Was it solely her fault?

"By a bullet," she said suddenly, amazed at how controlled her voice was.

"Which world?" the she-Wraith snapped, impatient.

"I—I don't remember."

"Think, human!" she warbled, whirling around to storm back and forth across the room. "Which world!"

Why would she want to know which world? the young woman thought. A sudden coldness filled her. She wants to tear it apart, she thought in dismay, to wreak whatever vengeance on her mind.

"I don't remember, my Lady! I swear to you, I don't know." That part was true. She couldn't recall the address even if she wanted to. She stood there, stiff and ready, yet knowing there could be no escape for her ere the Queen attacked. It would be a hopeless battle. She followed the she-Wraith's pacing with her eyes.

"What about the other with you—the other hunter?" the Queen suddenly asked, rounding upon Althea like a goshawk. "He knows."

"No, he wouldn't . . . we were separated during the attack." She thought quickly, feeling the Queen's ice-red eyes boring into her soul. Her heart hammered hard against her ribs. How her tongue could remain this loose was beyond her. "We only found each other later that night, then went through the Ring back to our world—"

"You survived," the Queen whispered, eyes looking like two twin pools of blood. She wore an expression of hatred and confusion and agony. "And he didn't." With long, slender fingers she rubbed the delicately crafted band on her arm in a clutching, convulsive motion. If Althea had thought the Queen Wraith had been scary before, she was now terrifying. The young woman felt like she was trapped in a room with a terrible disease.

"Please, my Queen, I have done you no injury . . ."

"No injury?" she said. "You left my mate to die upon this world that you have just 'forgot'. You should have stayed with him! Died with him—died for him. You were his . . . his ward!"

She choked on the word, as though it tasted filthy in her mouth. Fury sparked in Althea. She felt her eyes sting, her ribs lock tight. She had thought she had no tears left to shed.

"My Queen, he was my Leader," she muttered. She could barely hold her voice steady as the comment hit home. Her voice shook from either anger or injustice. "And faithfully I fulfilled his command—to get myself to the trees."

"To save yourself!" the Queen yowled, "I knew your intentions! Seducer! For fourteen years you lay in wait to destroy him!"

Althea gasped in astonishment, stumbling back before the fury of the Queen. The window into the Queen's essence had opened again, and Althea wished with all her soul that it would stop. The confusion not her own, the anguish not her own, the hatred not her own filled her head like a torrent. So this is how it feels to die, Althea thought to herself, falling to the floor, terrified, eyes wide.

Suddenly, the Queen whirled around with a choked snarl and stormed out of the room, leaving Althea alone. What had just happened? she thought, stupid, to herself. I must get out of here. Now. Gathering clumsy limbs, she swiftly walked out of the multi-hued room, eyes white-ringed. She glanced around her. No Wraith. No guards. No Queen. Good. Without a look back Althea walked quickly to the same flight of 'stairs' and began to descend, mind in a whirl. Just then it dawned on her. The Queen controlled the Hive. A Hive that didn't operate properly cannot possibly prosper. What will happen in the long run if the Queen lost stability? Would the Hive decay and come apart at the seams? What of the subjects? Did they need the Queen anymore to survive, or after a while, would they leave the Hive and explore the planet on their own? These thoughts were disturbing. She's unraveling, Althea realized. Why is she taking Warrior's death so hard? And why is she blaming me? Withdrawn into herself, Althea scarcely heeded where she was going as she descended. She shook her head, heaved a great sigh, painful against the crushing tightness of her breast.